


Sweet Dreams and Dark Desires

by MissDelight



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Asphyxiation, Blindfolds, Bondage, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Complete, Dark Fantasy, Denial, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Drug-Induced Sex, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Forbidden Desires, Forbidden Love, Forced Orgasm, Gags, Hate Sex, Library Sex, Loss of Virginity, Love, M/M, Magic, Masturbation, No mental anguish or cruelty just good smut with a bit of romance, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Onmund likes it against his will, Other, Overstimulation, Plant bondage (vines/thorns), Rape/Non-con Elements, Rope Bondage, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Stripping, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Thalmor, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2015-07-12
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:13:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2919758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissDelight/pseuds/MissDelight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ancano has 'fun' with Onmund, leaving them both wanting what they shouldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for [ this prompt](http://skyrimkinkmeme.livejournal.com/4941.html?thread=10721357#t10721357) on the SkyrimKinkMeme.

“Nng…” Onmund groaned, slowly regaining consciousness.

A startled noise escaped his throat as he was dropped on the ground.  Forcing open his heavy eyelids, he looked around a dark and unfamiliar room.  Sluggishly, he managed to roll onto his side, forcing himself up onto his hands.

Green light struck him and he fell back on the ground.  

Unable to move or speak from beneath the paralyze spell holding him still, he stared silently at the ceiling, trying to make sense of his situation, his growing panic slicing through the fog surrounding his thoughts.  The air around him was ice cold and he could hear tiny droplets of water.

Soft footsteps came from somewhere behind him.  Someone was standing barely outside of his view.  A strip of black cloth entered his field of vision, lowering over his eyes until he could see no more, the silk fabric being tied tight around his head.

Onmund swallowed nervously, seeing bright light dancing beyond his blind eyes and hearing the hum of magic.  

His mind raced.  

A budding young necromancer may have decided to use him as a sacrifice, intent on doing terrible things with his corpse.  Or, a Daedra worshipper may have abducted him for any number of purposes.  The arcane arts held numerous uses for a bound victim, and his mind whirled to the worst possibilities.  

How had he come to be here?  All he could recall was practicing his spells, drinking his mead, and settling down to bed.  A dream, possibly…?

A pair of shears made a cutting sound from above him and he shuddered, bravely quelling the whimper rising in his throat.  He’d die a Nord - with his dignity intact - if it came to that, he promised himself.

A hand pulled at his clothes, and the shears snipped ever so slowly, as a warm hand tossed open the remains of his robes, exposing his bare chest.  Onmund shivered, his heart racing, as the dangerous, cold metal brushed his skin, traveling lower.  Surrounded by the tatters of his robes and pants, he laid naked and helpless, the only scrap of fabric covering him the cursed blindfold, denying him sight of the person looming above him.

With great focus he managed to twitch the thumb of his right hand.  Grasping onto this revelation with hope, he tried to fight the effects of the fading paralyze spell before the person with him might recast it.

A sudden touch against his foot made him jerk.

Behind him he could hear the sound of four chair legs touching stone floor, and someone sinking into a seat.

Part of him wanted to believe this was a prank. An initiation for the new, Nord student.  But he couldn’t imagine any of his peers doing anything like _this._

The strange thing touching his foot moved tentatively, tickling him as it… _wriggled_ for lack of a better term, he thought.  Finally the tickling stopped as whatever it was, slid around his foot and continued up his leg.  

What was it, he wondered in bewilderment.  A vine?  A snake?

Suddenly it was accompanied by a second, a third, a fourth… he lost count of the things, all experimentally creeping along his bare flesh, winding around his limbs, ensnaring him as it lifted and pulled at each of his legs.  Onmund felt his toes respond to his command, and desperately tried to make his arms and legs obey him.

His breath caught in his throat as the warm bonds crept to his crotch.

An alarmed sound tore from his throat as he felt the thing slide against his cock, another sliding across his ass.  The image of tentacles entered his mind, and he decided that was as apt a term as any for the limbs toying with him, twining around his cock, pushing at his sack, while sliding across each of his ass cheeks and between.

While the perverted tentacles toyed with his sensitive areas, new tentacles twisted around his arms, some moving up to his face, touching him in a parody of a lover’s caress.  

Onmund grunted and twisted, his ability to move gradually returning.

The tentacles constricted, rubbing and slipping all over his body, their movement becoming warm and… wet, he realized with sickening dread.

Shuddering and disgusted, he tried to slip free as the tentacles began moving at a quicker pace, sliding all over him as they seemed to come from everywhere, and leaving warm, wet trails over his naked body.

Onmund grunted as he felt the creature lift him, struggling with all his might, off the ground and into the air.  Finally free of the paralyze spell, he shouted for help as his legs and arms were constricted by the tentacles, while others toyed insistently with his cock, sliding sensually across it from tip to balls.

Grasping onto his magicka, he lashed out with sparks of lightning.

He felt the creature constrict around him in its pain, causing him to cry out as it squeezed him with bone crushing force.

“ _Let go of me!_ ” he yelled defiantly, gritting his teeth together and throwing another bolt of lightning into the beast and bracing himself for its retaliation.

The tentacles squeezed him painfully and this time when he opened his mouth to scream, he felt a massive tentacle press its way between his lips, forcing itself back in his throat.

Shocked, Onmund made urgent, desperate noises, shaking his head back and forth, trying to dislodge it as the tentacle began sliding back and forth.  He choked and coughed as it pushed further back, making it impossible to breath as it thrust its way to the back of his throat.  The tentacle grew warmer and wetter, and he began to taste something strange, and vaguely sweet.  The thing pulsed, causing hot, sweet fluid to fill his mouth, pouring down his throat, and from between his lips.  The tentacle retreated from his mouth and Onmund coughed and gasped, but just as he had caught his breath, the tentacle forced itself back into his mouth against his protests.  

A pleasant aroma filled his nose as the thing violated his mouth, as Onmund once more shook his head vigorously in a vain attempt at ridding the thing from his face, as amid the vulgar noises filling his ears, he began to feel rather pleasant, in a distant kind of way.  More fluid filled his mouth as the tentacle forced its way in and out, sliding across his tongue, and forcing Onmund to swallow the odd liquid, despite his best efforts not to.  The more he tried to resist, the more the thing forced its way back in his throat, suffocating him.

He made an urgent, gagging noise of distress as the tentacle at his crotch wound around his cock, rubbing and coating it with the strange, sweet liquid.

A disembodied, dark chuckle reminded him that someone was in the room with him, silently watching his violation as though it were a form of immense entertainment.  Onmund growled around the thing in his mouth, trying to turn his head blindly toward his voyeur.

It was increasingly difficult for him to focus though.  His senses were hazy.  The scent and taste of the sweet fluid were going to his head, making it spin.  His body was warm, despite the chill of the room.  All of the warmth pooled at his crotch, making him feel desperate for any kind of touch.

When the thing slid against his cock, he let out an immense, low moan.  Nothing had ever felt so good in his entire life.

Distantly, he could hear a man’s sharp intake of breath, but he couldn’t process it.  His mind was floating away, though despite his pleasure, he struggled to fight it - he needed to fight.  Knew he needed to escape from his predicament.

The tentacle in his mouth continued to work to and fro, while the one at his cock touched him sparingly, causing him to moan in ecstasy with each fleeting caress.  More liquid pooled in his mouth, and this time he surprised himself as he willingly swallowed.  

He found himself rewarded with a gentle pressure against his cock.  

Tiny pleading sounds came unbidden from his throat.  

His conscious mind was disgusted with himself, as he experimentally sucked on the tentacle violating his mouth.  Once again he was rewarded with some wonderful sensation around his cock.  He had no idea what the thing was doing to him, but he moaned and sucked against the thing in his mouth, while thrusting with his hips, feeling as though he’d go mad if the tentacle writhing and twisting around his cock were to stop moving.  

He needed to come.  Shamefully, he realized he’d do anything for it.

 

* * *

 

Ancano watched the proud, Nord moan in ecstasy, the sound nearly making him come across his robes.  The Thalmor wizard bit his lip.  He’d never imagined how visceral it would be, watching the cocky Nord come undone.  Squeezing his hard shaft, he inhaled deeply as he idly gestured with the stave in his other hand, commanding the daedra as he resumed stroking himself.

Onmund let out muffled moans as the tentacle moved insistently against his ass, the human defenseless to stop it.

Ancano’s eyes rolled back, his lids fluttering shut as he listened.

When the Nord came in a desperate cry around the appendage in his mouth, Ancano felt himself spend.  He sank bonelessly back in his chair, catching his breath, his long, white hair glistening with sweat.

Once he had recovered, he tucked himself back into his robes and adjusted himself.  With a single wave of his stave, the daedra vanished, and Onmund slumped to the ground.  Ancano tilted his head, looking down on him.  The Nord lay panting for breath in a heap, unaware of him, or indifferent, in his current state.  A soft moan from the helpless, brown haired Nord made his cock twitch, despite his being spent.  The human was too tempting a diversion, it seemed.  He’d had his fun, but it was clear he couldn’t repeat it.  He would be unable to resist doing things with the inferior being that were not befitting of his station.

With one, gloved hand, he lifted the younger man by the chin and wove a spell with his stave.

“Just a dream,” he whispered.

“A dream…” Onmund repeated in a hoarse whisper.

“Indeed,” Ancano said, letting the idea root itself in his mind, which was for the time being, magically altered to be highly open to suggestion.  

“Back to sleep now,” he commanded with a crack of magic, and Omund’s head lolled unconsciously to the side.


	2. Chapter 2

Onmund awoke the next morning feeling sore and exhausted.  Biting his lip, he recalled his strange, darkly sexual dream.  Flopping back on his pillow, he guiltily wondered from what part of his subconscious it had come from.  Closing his eyes, he could still hear a man chuckling to himself, while he fought against those constricting tentacles…

Sucking in a breath, he rolled onto his side to hide his hardening cock from view, his blanket betraying him.

Frowning, he wondered whose idea it had been to design dorm rooms with no doors.  Maybe it was meant as a right of passage into the Illusion school of magic, he thought in irritation.  His body was super sensitive, responding eagerly to every stimuli, and refusing to relax.  He sighed, running a hand through his short, brown hair.

It was going to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

_How dare he._

Ancano scowled down at Savos Aren, the Archmage unaware of his bitter glare from the window of his freezing, barren little room.  

 _Insolent, churlish, ludicrously dressed Dunmer…_ the steady stream of insults broiled silently as he watched the Archmage leave the College.  Wherever he was bound for was, as Savos had put it, ‘nothing that need concern’ him.  Every attempt he made to gain access to the College was met with the same four words.  They were all in on it.  He’d lost count of the times he’d met with those words spoken with feigned diplomacy.  The Archmage was mocking him.  Toying with him as if he were nothing; _less_ than nothing.  

The image of the Archmage’s courteous smile and conciliatory remarks made him seethe.

Thoughtfully, he lifted a tiny glass vial from his bookcase between his thumb and index finger.  A dark smile formed on his lips as he studied the draught, holding it up to the light.

 _Why not_ , he thought.  He had been stuck at this wretched little assignment for nearly a year.  He was due a bit of fun.  

And retribution had a way of making all things more exciting.

 

* * *

 

Onmund left the Arcaneum, a new book tucked carefully in his arm.  Tolfdir was relentless about ward spells.  He’d had him practicing at it all day, and now that Onmund felt himself progressing, he was looking forward to curling up with a book on the subject to broaden his understanding.  

Passing the Hall of Elements on his way out, he frowned to himself.  He’d spent the whole day feeling a prickling sense of déjà vu on the back of his neck, like the figure from his dream was sitting behind him.  Over his shoulder, he occasionally found Ancano, as he often did, watching him practice.  He was beginning to suspect his subconscious had cast the sinister voyeur in his dream from his conscious discomfort of the man.  The Thalmor wizard kept an eye on everyone, in a very unnerving way.  Brelyna had leaned over and whispered conspiratorially to him, “I know, I don't like the way he looks at me, either. I can't tell if he expects me to blow myself up, or to try and murder him.”

Crossing the courtyard, he couldn’t help opening his book and eagerly delving into its contents before he was halfway to the Hall of Attainment.  Urag gro-Shub would cuff his ears, he was sure, if he saw him walking and reading at the same time with one of his precious library books.

Paying minimal attention, Onmund made his way back to his room and poured a bottle of mead into a cup.  Engrossed, he paced around his room, continuing to read, and only pausing to drink.

He was just getting to an interesting bit about ward field strengths when he found himself nearly tripping over his own feet.  Standing still to regain his balance, he squinted down at the page he was reading with confusion.  The words were swimming in and out of focus.  Numbly, he felt the book slip from his fingers and heard his cup land on the floor.  His perception of time became suddenly as distorted as his balance, and he felt as if he were slowly falling backward for a very long time.  As though he were pitching backwards over a cliff.

Where he had expected to land hard on the floor, he instead fell painlessly against a warm body, caught in a waiting pair of arms.

There was a crack of magic and suddenly he could see the floor where his feet had been, his body vanishing.  Invisible arms lifted him up, groaning and dizzy, as his body sagged and he fell unconscious.

When Onmund came to once more, he was slumped in a chair, staring at a large bed.  Struggling with his heavy eyelids, he took in his surroundings.  Though he’d only seen it once on an errand for Mirabelle, he recognized the Archmage’s quarters.  If he was dreaming, then he was doing it with detail he hadn’t thought possible.  Right down to a copy of The Argonian Maid sitting on the nightstand.  You weren’t supposed to be able to read in dreams, were you? he silently wondered.  

He felt hopelessly dizzy and listless, almost as if he were severely drunk.

His eyes swelled as he realized was sitting stark naked.

Footsteps behind him made his heart hammer in his chest. He hoped without believing it, that maybe the adrenaline rushing through his body would give him back some control of himself and allow him to escape.

A familiar black cloth appeared before his eyes, and he gasped, making urgent, wordless sounds of distress, trying to attract help.  His vision went dark as the silk was tied around his head, leaving him with only his hearing to rely on.  A cork popped behind him, and suddenly a fist was in his hair, roughly forcing his head back.

He groaned louder in protest with the vain hope of rescue as a gloved hand roughly squeezed his face, pinching his cheeks and forcing his jaw open.  Onmund jerked and groaned, trying to escape from the painful, grasping hand, a sharp cry erupting from from him as a potion was poured into his open mouth.  The hand on his head dug further into his hair, keeping him staring blindly toward the ceiling, while the hand on his jaw clamped shut over his mouth, holding him from spitting out the draught.  The sweet, heady fragrance reached his nose, as he recognized the taste from the previous night. Against his will, his cock was hardening at the memory.

Growling against the leather glove, he locked his throat and breathed through his nose, but clever fingers squeezed his nose shut without ever loosening their grip on his lips, preventing his breathing.

Onmund tried to shake his head, but the fist in his hair yanked hard and held him fast. Slowly, he felt the familiar aphrodisiac from the previous night going down his throat.  Then he was choking and coughing, the concoction swallowed whole in a rough gulp.  He fell to the side, sputtering and coughing, as the hands holding his head released him.

No sooner had he recovered, then a cloth gag was forced in his mouth, silencing his frenzied shout for help, as the stranger tied a second gag over the first.

“ _Uck ou!_ ” Onmund yelled from beneath the gag, his angry ‘fuck you’ muffled beneath the layers of cloth.

The same dark chuckle from the previous night was right in his ear as his hands were forced behind his back and tied together.

Without a word, strong, thin fingers gripped his arms and lifted him up, dragging him forward, and hauling him over onto the bed.  Onmund struggled fitfully, face down on the soft comforter.  Behind him, a hand grasped his ankle and forced his leg up.  More soft rope wound around his leg, tying his calf to his thigh.  Once both of his legs were tied, the rope joined the bonds at his wrists, and he was flipped over.  He heard a crack of magic, and felt his ropes press into the bed, preventing him from rolling over

 

* * *

 

Ancano admired his handiwork.  The young man squirmed, his legs and arms tied uselessly beneath him, leaving him exposed and helpless.  

On Savos Aren’s bed.  

He savored the sight, listening to the Nord’s muffled sounds of struggle.

The wizard apprentice was already half hard.  Perhaps he could do something about that.

With a tight lipped smile, Ancano retrieved the daedric aphrodisiac from the table.  

Watching a prideful Nord come undone had to be one of life’s greatest pleasures.  

And watching him make the fool Archmage’s blankets filthy, was going to be a close second.

Ancano liberated a small paint brush from the Archmage’s belongings, thoroughly enjoying himself, as he sat down beside the struggling Nord, and dipped the brush in the purplish liquid.

Onmund snarled and writhed under the strokes of the brush, uselessly trying to block the touch with his bound legs.  Ancano painted his cock with feather light strokes, making Onmund moan and snarl as he pressed it hard across his tip and beneath the head.  The purple liquid was doing the trick, leaving him glistening and hopelessly hard.  The Nord’s face flushed amusingly whenever a gasp of desire escaped his lips.

Ancano stood and straightened his robes once Onmund was thoroughly squirming in a drug addled haze of desire.  Placing the brush on the Savos’ alchemy table, he looked through the bookcases, found a tome, and sank into a chair.

Onmund looked toward him when he heard the rustle of pages, aware that he was being left to suffer with his arousal.  The Nord snarled angry threats from beneath his gag, fitfully trying to roll onto his side or back without success.

Awhile later, Ancano heard Onmund’s snarls die down, turning into something more akin to whimpering, desperate pleas.  Ancano set his book down and watched the Nord arch his body, moaning and writhing.  His muscles worked, glistening with sweat, useless against the silk ropes preventing any touch from reaching his aching cock.

Ancano silently approached the bed and looked down at him, gingerly stroking his cheek.  The light touch had an instant reaction.  Onmund was moaning and wrenching his face away at the same time, desperately wanting his touch, but refusing it.

Ancano grinned.   _How amusing_ , he thought.  Nords really were a stubborn lot.

The scream behind Onmund’s gag was music to his ears when he grabbed his cock.  The Nord whimpered pathetically as he began jerking him off.  His moans of pleasure growing steadily louder and more desperate, as Ancano’s black, leather, gloved hand stroked him.  

Ancano laughed to himself as he watched the Archmage’s blanket splatter with cum.

Onmund let out a cry of discomfort as Ancano continued stroking him despite his orgasm.  The apprentice writhed, trying to escape, as Ancano’s thin fingers continued their rough pace.  Onmund’s moans of displeasure turned into desperate cries, his body arching, the young man throwing his head back and forth while his legs struggled within their bonds to knock his hand away.

Grunting, Ancano undid his belt with one hand, and reached down for his cock, straining against the confines of his pants.  He pulled the struggling Nord against his chest, grinding himself against the man’s hot, sweat slicked back.

The contact felt good, not nearly enough, but good.

No matter how aroused he was, fucking a Nord was beyond consideration.

And he was on edge - positively desperate - from the sights and sounds of Onmund.  Who was growing ever harder in his hand.   _Such stamina_ , he thought in amusement.   _Best put it to use_.

He jerked off the young apprentice, feeling his second orgasm approaching.

Amid Omund’s desperate noises of protest, Ancano couldn’t resist whispering encouragingly in his ear as he felt him near release.

“That’s it.   _That’s_ _it_ …”

Onmund gasped and arched his back, coming hard and crying out helplessly beneath his gag in a muffled scream of pain and ecstasy.

Ancano ground against Onmund’s back, stroking his hyper sensitive cock just once more, wrenching a priceless gasp from the Nord.  Quickly, he adjusted himself just before he came, adding to the mess on the blanket.

With a satisfied smile, he fell back on the bed. Onmund still bound, was forced to lay against him.  The press of his toned body was not unpleasant, and so he left him there, basking in the moment, breathing raggedly in the other man’s ear.

Though the living space was infinitely more pleasing than his own, and the presence of a warm body was a delightful diversion, he made himself get up and retrieve his stave.

With one hand he removed Onmund’s gag and wove a spell with the other.

“Another dream,” he reassured him.

Onmund stared blindly up at him.

“D-don’t…” he began in a hoarse whisper, “believe you.”

Ancano raised his eyebrows.

“Is that so.”

“Who are you?” Onmund asked.

Ancano snaked a hand under his chin, bringing him face to face.

“I think you already know,” he said thoughtfully.  “Never the less.  This dream has come to an end.”

“No-”

“Back to sleep now,” Ancano commanded with a crack of his stave.

Onmund fell asleep, mid-protest.


	3. Chapter 3

Onmund awoke in his bed, robes intact, book sitting on his nightstand, as though nothing had occurred.  He stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.  Either he had dreamt two encounters with a man who abducted him and inflicted dark, sexual torments upon him.  Or, someone was actually drugging him, removing him from where he slept, and using him for their twisted pleasure.

A shudder coursed through his body as he remembered the disembodied voice, whispering in his ear, forcing him to come against his will.  The memory taunted him, appalling yet incredibly arousing.  Yes, he openly admitted to himself, he had enjoyed it.  Divines, that much was clear.  Nothing in his life had even compared.

But was it real or a dream?  That was the million Septim question.

He squirmed, thinking of the seductive whisper in his ear, indifferent to his struggling.

Sucking in a breath, he let it out slowly, his pulse racing at the thought. For now, he could just... wait and see.

And then nothing happened.

Onmund went to bed, anxious with dread - and arousal, he admitted privately.  And each morning he woke up, safe and sound.

And extremely physically frustrated.

 

* * *

 

Ancano idly stroked the black, strip of silk in his pocket.  The smooth cloth between his fingers evoked strong feelings of nostalgia.  It made his lips curl into a smirk and his eyes unfocus.  There were such wonderfully wicked things he could do to the young wizard, the poor thing just had no _idea_ of what he was capable of.

In his many years of life, he had entertained a variety of lovers, and in turn learned skills as clever as they were devious.  He had developed a certain reputation within circles of the elite, as being a man that could sate particular appetites.

He sighed nostalgically.

At one time he had satisfied and entertained aristocracy of the finest breed.  Left princes and noblemen wet and moaning.  Demanding - _begging -_ for him.  And only him.

Closing his eyes, he took the folded cloth from his pocket, pressing it to his lips.

This youthful Nord was a pleasant reminder of days past.

Better in some respects.

Nowhere in Alinor, had he heard such divine sounds come from another.  When a Nord was broken, it was a sight - and sound - of beauty.

And too great a temptation.  In his last encounter he had found himself rutting against the _human_ , he thought the word with disgust.  Delightful as the lesser being was, it was deplorable, that he could shake the control of his faculties.

So, let it be at two encounters, he thought with finality.  Let them be fond memories to be recollected on cold nights.  Which, he thought with bitter cynicism, was every miserable night in this wretched, frozen, country.

A passing thought occurred, that had him smiling despite himself.

Was the young Nord wanting for his ‘dreams’?  Pining for an experience which never came?

 

* * *

 

Onmund studied ferociously, delving into wards and then illusion magic.  He was increasingly frustrated, and he needed to find somewhere to relieve the constant attention his cock was demanding of him, without his neighbors hearing or seeing.  And soon.

But there was simply no privacy in the College.  His room had no door and invisibility was too difficult to maintain when his concentration wandered.  And while a desperate part of him considered the storage rooms or Midden, he knew that he’d be shamefully caught if he tried the former, or eaten by ghouls in the latter.  It was maddening.

So he was relieved when Tolfdir presented him with something to captivate his attention and get him away from the College. Relieved, but also troubled.  Disturbing the ancient ruins of his ancestors struck him as… wrong; for wont of a better word. He wasn’t superstitious, but something about it felt indecent.  So it was with an ominous sense of foreboding that he left the College.

 _Saarthal_ … Onmund frowned to himself, joining the other apprentices at the gate for their journey.  Well, Tolfdir would be there.  What was the worst that could happen?

He fumed at himself for asking such a stupid question, as his brain spent the rest of the trip imagining every possible horrible outcome imaginable.

What they discovered was like nothing he had predicted.

Which somehow felt worse.

 

* * *

 

Ancano stood in the Hall of Elements in awe.  

The Eye of Magnus.

Suddenly, his mission wasn’t feeling quite so fruitless.

The artifact thrummed with mysterious, alluring energy, drawing him back to bask in its presence, even in the dead of night.  The breadth of knowledge and power at his fingertips made his chest tighten and left his mouth dry.

“You’re up late.”

The voice startled him from his trance.

Ancano’s head snapped to the side, looking over his shoulder.

Onmund stood behind him, handsomely bathed in the pale light cast by the mystic well of focal energy.

“Mmm,” Ancano said, looking back to the floating, arcane orb.  “I couldn’t sleep.”

Onmund followed his gaze, looking at the artifact without moving any closer.

Ancano glanced back down at him, a sinister smile on his lips.

“Does it frighten you?”

“No,” Onmund said quickly, annoyed by the accusation.  “It just- It gives me a bad feeling.  Like we dug up something that was meant to be buried.”

Ancano snorted disdainfully.

“Preposterous.  There is nothing more glorious than the pursuit of knowledge.  Secrets are made for discovering,” he said, his gold eyes flashing with intensity.

Onmund swallowed, unsure when it had happened, but they were standing almost face to face.

“Knowledge?” Onmund asked slowly, looking up at the tall Altmer.  “Or power?”

“You’re a practitioner of magic,” Ancano said, his regal voice making Onmund’s knees weak.  He could see the fibers of his silk robes, he was so close.  “What fun is one without the other?”

Onmund forced himself to look away, gazing up at the Eye, looking anywhere but at the elf’s smoldering expression.  He swallowed nervously.

“Just… be careful,” Onmund said, surprised by his own concern.  “When you stare at that thing, you look…”

Ancano arched a slender eyebrow.

“Yes?” he asked curiously.  “What do I look like?”

Onmund sighed.

“Villainous,” he mumbled, the words pouring out of his mouth.  “Like some kind of a... possessed, anti-hero, just short of laughing wickedly while petting a cat or something, like in those stories everyone reads.”

Onmund shifted uncomfortably, the weight of Ancano’s stare feeling strong enough to burn a hole through him.

And then, impossibly, he heard a rumbling sound.  Looking up uncertainly, he realized it was coming from Ancano’s chest.  Slow, deep laughter.  Welling up from the bottom of his chest and working its way up to his mouth.  Real, genuine, no hint of snideness.

Onmund, stared mouth open.  Seeing Ancano laugh hadn’t been on his bucket list, but he wrote it in mentally and scratched it off.  He was certain he was the only one in the College who had witnessed it in any case.

Cocking an eyebrow, Ancano regarded him with a sly smile.

"I'll let you in on a little secret," he said, leaning close, so as to whisper in his ear.  

Onmund shivered, feeling the warm elf’s presence against his neck and breath against his ear.

“I would have a cat, but the Archmage forbade it.”

Ancano smirked at his surprised expression.

 _Ancano… has a sense of humor._  His mind couldn’t process the notion.   _And he likes cats._

“Good night,” Ancano said, inclining his head in a gesture of parting before striding away, hands clasped behind his back.

“Oh, right, um, good night,” Onmund blurted out awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.

Ancano smiled to himself as he climbed the stairs to his room.

 _And what makes you think I’m not the villain?_ he thought to himself.

Not that he thought of himself as such.  

But no one among the College would appreciate what he had in store.

 

* * *

 

Onmund sat in the Arcaneum the next evening, puzzling over his research in the furthest corner.  Even the grumpy librarian had retired for the evening, leaving him alone save for the occasional person walking by on the other side of the shelves, searching for a book.  Yawning and stretching his arms, he cracked his back and carefully lit the candelabrum on the table with a wave of his hand.

The library was peaceful when it was dimly lit, he thought.  The light from the window diffused through the College’s symbol; a five pointed star with an eye at the center, casting a shadow of the same shape on the floor.

Onmund remained still, admiring the quiet atmosphere and pleasant scent of candle smoke.

Hands on the arms of his chair, he sat staring straight ahead.  

A fleeting warmth touched his cheek, the ghost of a caress.  

The sensation was strange and surreal.  When it was gone, he wasn’t sure if it had happened at all.

Then he felt that same, ghost like touch across his neck.

His hood was slowly taken down and then he felt hands tracing through his hair, nails scraping across his scalp.

There was a rustling sound and then he saw a sight that made his heart skip a beat.

Black, silk cloth.  

He inhaled sharply as he was blindfolded.

Breathing, he realized, seemed to be all he was capable of.  His body remained perfectly still through it all.  Relaxed and impossibly calm.  Even as those clever hands slowly untied his robes, unwrapping him like a present.  He couldn’t gasp - couldn’t react in any way.

The man in front of him worked slowly, methodically.  Once he was sitting half naked upon his splayed robes, he heard the slow rustle of fabric in front of him.  It sounded like the other man was casting open his own robes in the same way.  Slowly undoing his belt, shrugging down his pants until they were only loosely hanging from his hips, the buckle making tiny metallic sounds in the space between them.

A palm beneath his chin jerked his face up, guiding him up.

Amidst it all, he couldn’t help one thought rising unbidden in the back of his mind.

 _Finally_.

A warm body loomed in front of his nose, the heady aroma of the man, close, almost touching.  He could all but taste him on his tongue as he inhaled his scent.

And still, all he could think was _finally,_ because although it defied all logic, he had actually missed this.

A strong thumb stroked his lower lip, brushing back and forth, slow and deliberate.  The weight of the other man’s stare seared him - he could _feel_ it from beneath his blindfold.  Could imagine smoldering, gold eyes locked on him, taking in every detail of his naked body.

The other man inhaled softly in surprise.

“Half hard already?” Onmund heard him say quietly.  Regal, haughty.  A voice he knew could only belong to one man.  “You _like_ this, don’t you?  Filthy Nord,” he mocked in a seductive whisper, tracing the curve of his lips.  Onmund wanted to snarl at him, to not be aroused, but the man spoke in an intoxicating, deep rumble, that made his already pliant body melt.

"Moaning and struggling suits you better, though I must admit," Ancano said, sliding a gloved thumb between his lips. "You being so... _accommodating_ has a certain appeal all it’s own."

Chuckling, he slowly wet Onmund’s lips, moving his thumb in and out of his mouth.

Onmund was grateful he was mute then, as he was sure he would have moaned.  His cock twitched as Ancano pressed the head of his erection against his lips.  A ring found its way into his mouth, stretching his mouth open wider and surely protecting against any contact with his teeth.

A sensible voice told him to struggle and move, but nothing could motivate his relaxed hands, idly resting on the arms of his chair.

“Enchanted canis root and briar heart,” Ancano whispered.

And then he was sliding himself into Onmund’s pliable mouth. Onmund could do nothing but listen to the wet noises.

“Added to the wax of your candles.  They’re quite soothing, as you may have noticed,” he explained with a soft grunt.  “So long as they’re burning, you’ll remain in this enticing state of... compliance,” he chuckled, sliding deeper.

Slick noises filled Onmund's ears, while he inhaled the pleasant scent of the treacherous candles, combined with the heady scent of Ancano’s manhood.  As the cock in his mouth moved deeper, he expected at any moment he would gag, but his throat was too relaxed.  Or _accommodating_ as Ancano had put it, he thought cynically.

A small, pleasured sound came from the elf, making Onmund grow warmer. The more Ancano got off on his helplessness, he realized, the more aroused he felt despite himself.

“I recall how you handled the daedra in your mouth that first night.  So _eager_.  I think you enjoy having your mouth occupied.”

Onmund fumed, frustrated by his inability to reply as he felt the large cock in his mouth slide back and forth across his tongue.  He longed for the ropes or tentacles holding him.  Not being able to struggle physically was like being trussed up mentally.

Ancano kept talking to him, making him wish he could respond, react, do something.  The man always seemed to be robbing him of some new sense he hadn’t realized possible.  And somehow, he was achingly hard.  Helplessness, Onmund decided, must be a potent aphrodisiac for himself, as for once Ancano hadn’t dosed him with anything to heighten the experience.

He could feel the swell of Ancano’s cock in his mouth and braced himself.  The elf rocked his hips, thrusting so deep that Onmund found himself involuntarily gagging on the man’s cock as Ancano came.

He heard the shuffling of clothing as Ancano adjusted himself and buckled his belt.

Fingers dabbed in his mouth and then he heard the hiss of extinguished candles, followed by a crack of magic.

“You should be capable of speaking now.”

Onmund tilted his head, confused - and relieved he could tilt his head.

“Are you going to tell me I’m dreaming again?” he asked once he found his voice.

“Of course,” Ancano said, as if that much was obvious.  “However, tell me you don’t believe me again, and I will go to bed and leave you here.  Blindfolded, hard, naked, and paralyzed.  Quite a scene, I assure you,” he said, and Onmund could feel that heavy gaze beyond his blindfold once more.

“Huh.  But, why free my mouth th- _ahhhHHHHHNnng,”_ he gasped _.  “_ What in Oblivion is that?!”

Something around his cock was squeezing and _vibrating_.

“A small device of some popularity.  Do try to be quiet.  If you wake the Archmage, he may not appreciate finding you in such a predicament.  It would be a pity if you were expelled.”

Onmund moaned loudly, unable to contain himself.

“ _Get it off of me_ ,” he snapped.

The elf merely chuckled.

“And why would I do that?”

Onmund started to snarl something, but a wave of vibration left him shouting breathlessly instead.

Ancano sealed a hand over his mouth, stifling his moans.

Onmund whimpered into the fingers tightly clamped around his mouth as another wave struck him, half pleasure, half too intense.

“Just relax,” Ancano whispered in his ear.

Onmund’s eyes rolled back as the waves continued in tormenting pleasure, listening to Ancano’s seductive encouragements in his ear.  He felt as if his body was light as air, as he squeezed his eyes so hard he saw white light.

“Mmm, that’s it,” Ancano whispered, and just like that he was coming.  The elf’s whispers had a way of sending him over the edge, he realized self consciously, as he came, screaming against Ancano’s palm.

As he sat, panting for breath, he felt a familiar spell taking hold of his mind, making him drowsy.

“Sweet dreams, apprentice wizard,” Ancano said with a crack of his stave.

“Just call me Onmund,” he said, head lolling back, “ _Ancano_.” 


	4. Chapter 4

Onmund's sex life had been non-existent before the College.

He had been a loner in all things. A stranger in his own home, never quite trusted or accepted, even before his talent for magic surfaced. While outside of the house, he had been mocked, and at times, tormented.

Particularly for his love of reading.

Looking back, there had been no one he felt safe with - or interested by - so sexual encounters were a curiosity, but something he had no direct experience with.

What was considered normal?  He could only guess. Whatever he was doing with Ancano seemed anything but.  But with him, curiosity won out every time, desire trumping caution and sense.

Did other people enjoy being tied up and forced to pleasure? Perhaps it came down to personal preference.  The discovery that he enjoyed it wasn’t entirely surprising.

Once, when he was younger, he had been reading outside town in a place he thought no one knew of.

How wrong he had been, he mused.

Abruptly, he had found a burlap bag over his head, his book stolen away, as a stronger man pinned his arms behind his back.

There had been a group of them, dragging him into an abandoned thieves' den. Forcing him into a chair, the gang had bound him. The sack over his head had been removed, at which point he recognized the boys town.

He was more angry than frightened then. They were despicable fools, but never violent. They had patted each other on the back, laughing heartily at his surprise.

Glaring daggers, he had demanded they let him go.

In response they had gagged him and drank, watching at how he struggled.  

Beneath the fear and anger, as he sat there for hours, enduring their teasing, he had found the ropes at least rather interesting.  Enticing.

And then he gasped sharply as he felt someone touch him, feeling electrified, grunting and struggling helplessly in his ropes. The boys drunkenly laughed, one of them falling onto his lap accidentally. Chuckling, he had whispered good-naturedly in his ear, telling him it was all just a bit of fun, they’d let him go soon and return his book.

But the friction of his body - and the feeling of being bound - had him struggling away from him, desperately trying to hide how hard he was.

"Oh, fuck," the boy had exclaimed in surprise, looking startled.

Onmund had stared away, brows knit together, wishing he could escape.

And then, quite abruptly, he had felt the other boy's cock strain against him, the sensation making his entire body ache wonderfully. After an awkward look between them, the other boy retreated, saying nothing to the others, his face flushed red.

Though he had no interest in the boys of the village who taunted him, he learned one thing from the encounter - being tied up sent an odd thrill through him; even the mere thought exciting him.

It, like all things relating to sex, wasn't something he could discuss with anyone.  So, he shrugged at it, rarely thinking on it.

That was, until Ancano.

His sex life had taken a sharp, sudden development at the College, and he had no idea how to process it.

Ancano was an enigma.

He had never once seen the wizard during his so-called “dreams”. The only clue to his identity was the smooth leather gloves on his skin, and the caress of his rich voice across his ear. All this he detected from beneath the ever present black, silk blindfold covering his eyes.

The elf thrilled him, leaving him craving more. The fact of which worried him. He was still a proud Nord - he shouldn't be overcome by simple lust - he should be outraged.

Though, perhaps worst of all, somewhere beneath his confusion and physical desire, existed a tangle of emotions toward the ominous man he dared not begin to contemplate.

Onmund shuddered beneath the touch of a leather gloved hand.

"You seem thoughtful tonight."

The voice came from his right.

There was little he could do to respond to the disembodied voice, not around the strange thing in his mouth.

Vines constricted him, creaking as he pulled against their grip. He lay atop his calves and arms, bent into a supine position, his chest laid bare.

Lazily, Ancano undid his belt.  

Leaving his pants on, the Thalmor wizard ran a hand across the crotch of his leather breeches, squeezing his hard cock through the material.  Onmund moaned despite himself, trying to thrash his legs in resistance, barely able to move an inch.

"So eager, Onmund."

The Nord heard Ancano mocking him from somewhere to his left, as he removed his hand. His stomach knotted, feeling strange and wonderful at the sound of Ancano using his name.

“ _Mmmmph,_ ” the long groan escaped his throat as the hand returned, roving over the bulge in his pants once more, before pulling them down to hang loosely around his hips.

Tiny thorns pricked the bound, naked flesh of his arms and chest, making him feel dizzy and hot in a pleasant way.  Ancano’s knowledge of all things erotic, apparently included botany, he noted, as the vines binding him writhed and stretched enticingly around his body, one squeezing gently around his neck as the enchanted thorns shot odd thrills through him, causing him to shiver.

A hand on his mouth forced the plants to draw back.

"What would you like me to do to you tonight?" Ancano asked seductively. "Tell me... what do you like?" he asked, curious.

Onmund shuddered.  It was unlike Ancano to ask.

Sexual pleasure was still so new to Onmund, exhilarating and unknown. Though he imagined what Ancano did with him could likely be considered unique to a great many people.

Never before had he been afforded the opportunity to explore with someone else, so the question required some thought. A difficult task, as the vines tightened around him, making him gasp and squirm under their treatment.

"I..." he trailed off, losing his train of thought as Ancano's gloved hand traced patterns across both skin and vine, exploring the planes of his stomach.

He could fight against him, he tried to remind himself. His mouth was free.  He could tell Ancano to fuck off or go to Oblivion.

Blindly, he felt teeth graze the front of his neck, making him gasp for air at the sudden contact.

Ancano had figured out his sensitive areas, and always knew just how to touch him in a way that left him breathless.

"Unng... S-stop,” he moaned, futilely trying to pull away.  “I can't think when you do that.”

A warm chuckle vibrated against his tender neck.

"That, dear apprentice, is the point. Now. Answer the question."

Onmund considered it, before hesitantly voicing a thought. So softly, he had to clear his throat and repeat himself in an audible tone.

"I want you to..." he said uncertain how to phrase it. "I want to try giving you head," he muttered. "Except, I... I don't know how."

Onmund was greeted by deafening silence, making him even more self-conscious.

"And why, pray tell, do you wish to 'give me head'?" Ancano asked, his eloquent speech playing with the vulgar words in amusement.

Onmund shifted awkwardly.

"When you were in my mouth last night..." he paused thoughtfully.  "I liked it. And I... I want to do things to you, as well."

It was painfully difficult to admit what he enjoyed, and even harder to voice his desire to give the elf pleasure. The idea of making Ancano of all people lose himself, made his heart race with anticipation. Though why he desired it so much confounded him as well.  He blamed the strange plant for making him light headed and forthright, as though he were intoxicated by drink.

"I see. I don't usually receive that answer when I ask what the other party wants... but I have no complaint with teaching you how to make excellent use of your mouth," he said in a curious voice, tinged with desire. "And you say you've never given head before? What experience do you have in the bedroom?"

Onmund didn't reply, pressing his lips together in a thin line.

"Ah," Ancano said. Privately, he had assumed the handsome, intelligent, young man would have had anyone he wanted.  Handsome for a Nord, he quickly amended, caught off guard by his thoughts. He brushed Onmond's lips with a leather finger tip. If the young Nord wizard had never received head, or given, then he would need to start from basics.

Onmund heard a glove fall on the floor and felt a bare thumb touch his cheek, as the vines angled him up so his face was level to the elf's crotch.

"Lick your lips," Ancano told him.

Self-consciously, Onmund reached out his tongue, wetting his lips.

Two bare fingers touched them, entreating entrance. Onmund hesitated, then opened his mouth, allowing Ancano to slide them inside.

"Suck on my fingers. Use just enough force to gently tug them into your mouth.”

He sucked experimentally, drawing Ancano's long, thin fingers slowly in and out of his mouth.

"Good," Ancano whispered in encouragement. "The purpose is thoroughly lubricating."

He removed his wet fingers and Onmund diligently licked his lips again.  

The mage found himself enjoying Ancano's teaching. He hadn't expected the elf to give him a patient and detailed account.

"Next, motion,” Ancano continued, idly massaging the tight muscle at the back of his neck. “You want to apply light suction while moving your head back and forth in a rhythm."

Onmund took his fingers eagerly again, tasting them while moving his head, lightly sucking.

"Yes, that's good, but mind your teeth. Especially the canines. Open your jaw wider, but keep your lips tight."

Onmund moved a bit, trying various things until he heard Ancano's sound of approval.

"Well done.  You learn quickly.  Now,” he said, his voice growing huskier as Onmund wetly sucked his fingers, imagining his warm cock. “There are many different ways you can use your tongue. To start with, press it flat on the underside of my fingers while you move."

Onmund absorbed the information, applying it in what he hoped was what Ancano meant.

The elf pulled his fingers halfway from his mouth.

"Now," he commanded, his voice sounding more eager.  “Swirl your tongue around.”

Onmund licked slowly, curling his tongue around.  He circled Ancano’s fingers, straining against the creaking vines holding his neck to give them attention.

Onmund heard Ancano's other hand swiftly undoing his pants and moving aside his robes.

A warm head replaced fingers, and Onmund gave it the same attention, before slowly sucking it into his mouth.

"Yes..." he heard Ancano murmur breathlessly. "Like that."

Onmund put to work everything he had learned.

He struggled against his bonds, sucking the long shaft, feeling more aroused than ever. Something about having a cock in his mouth had him twitching with desire. A low moan came from the back of his throat.

"Gods!" he heard Ancano exclaim at the sudden vibration.

He tightened his lips and felt Ancano's cock stiffen in response.  Taking this as a positive sign, he kept his lips tight as he slid his mouth back and forth around his tip.

“Yes,” Ancano repeated, fingers twining in his hair, nails digging into his temples.  “You _do_ learn quickly, don’t you?”

Onmund pulled back in satisfaction, once more swirling his tongue around Ancano’s head, before sucking him in again.  

"Gods yes... _You filthy Nord_ ," Ancano moaned, as Onmund imagined him rolling back his head. "You're completely hard. You like this, don't you, _Onmund?_ " he said, adding his name in a husky voice.

Onmund couldn't help but moan, feeling the elf grow even harder.

But now he had trouble fitting the full-sized cock into his mouth.  Mindful of his teeth, he opened his jaw wider, pressing his tongue along the underside of Ancano’s cock.  

The man’s shaft unexpectedly swelled longer, causing him to gag.  His hands struggled reflexively, desperate and unable to grab hold of the man’s cock, to gain more control over how deep it could enter his mouth.

Coughing, he realized his helplessness.  

Ancano could choke him with his cock if he so chose, and there would be nothing he could do to stop him.

Ancano’s sounds of pleasure drew him back, cutting short his panic.  Feeling braver, he focused on taking as much of the man into his mouth as was comfortable.  Ancano seemed well aware of his limits, letting him set the rhythm they moved at.  The two worked together in silent understanding, finding no words between them necessary.

Onmund inhaled the musky scent of the elf’s manhood, sweat, and hint of cologne.

Intrigued, he explored with his tongue, gauging what Ancano seemed to like and dislike.  It fascinated him, being able to elicit quiet moans of pleasure and short gasps from the other man, giving him a rush like none other.

There was a moment of build-up, where Ancano’s entire body stiffened, and Onmund braced himself for what followed.

He felt the elf's shuddering cock in his mouth, as Ancano - grunting in pleasure - held onto his shoulders for support.

Breathing heavily, the elf eased himself out of the young Nord's mouth when he had finished.

Onmund gave him a parting lick, lavishing his cock as he pulled away, and then swallowing.

The sound of Ancano's pleasured groan of disbelief at it all left him feeling elated with self satisfaction. How often did some tend to the elf's desires, he wondered.

He blindly felt the intensity of Ancano’s gaze. Onmund tried to imagine what he was seeing, as all he saw was darkness.

His body was well toned, he thought with pride, and he thought, chest heaving from his struggles, he was glistening with sweat.

His black pants were lazily slung halfway off of his hips, cock hard and straining against the material. The thorny vines under Ancano’s control constricted his arms, legs and chest, forcing him into a kneeling position. Blindly, he stared up at Ancano from beneath his black blindfold, licking his lips.

Gasping in surprise, he felt a hot mouth devour his, Ancano's tongue finding his. Moaning, he let Ancano explore his mouth as the wizard yanked him back by the hair to deepen their kiss.

Whimpering, he felt an eager hand freeing his cock. Warm oil dripped across his cock and balls. Onmund shuddered as he felt Ancano lathered the oil through the curls of hair surrounding his cock, massaging his balls, and thoroughly gripping his length, dragging his hand inthe  blissful friction he had been waiting for for so long.

He moaned into warm lips, inhaling through his nose as he tried to thrust his restrained hips, the sounds coming from him growing urgent and desperate. Wet noises filled the air, only broken by Onmund’s muffled cries against Ancano's kiss.

He came with a loud yell, cock shuddering in the other man's hand.

Ancano hesitantly broke apart from their kiss, lips lingering a fraction away. Onmund stared blindly up at him, yearning to see what was in his eyes, feeling his hot breath.  Ancano's warm hand was still holding the back of his head, his chest pressed against Onmund's.

Onmund's heart ached as he felt Ancano reach away with one hand, undoubtedly for his staff.

"Don't," he said quickly, shaking his head.

He swallowed, his chest tight.

"I want to see you,” he asked, his voice raw.  “Take off this blindfold."

Ancano's hoarse whisper in his ear said one word.

"No."

The staff cracked.

Onmund struggled, thrashing and gritting his teeth against the weary sleepiness settling into his bones.

"Why..." he asked, squirming to remain conscious. "Why pretend I'm dreaming?"

Infuriatingly, he received only silence.

His grunts subsided, as sleep stole over him, Ancano’s name coming out as a final, pleading whisper from his lips.

Ancano watched the young man slump in the vines.

With feather light fingertips, he brushed back the brown hair on his brow.

"Because, this way it's not real - it's all pretend. Because this was never meant to go this far. But most of all," Ancano said in a quiet voice, brushing his lips across the sleeping Nord's. "Because I'm becoming quite fond of you."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No smut in this chapter - all plot.
> 
> Also, just a quick disclaimer.  
> This is a work of fiction and dark fantasy. The completely romanticized relationship involving rape and dubious consent is a figment written purely for the sake of smut and nothing more. The author does not condone actual rape in any form.
> 
> Thank you, please enjoy.

Onmund sat between Brelyna and J’zargo, the three young wizards bent low over a table, intent on the projects before them.

Warm heat touched Onmund’s arm on his right, the sensation melting away the bite in the air.

Curious, he paused to look over at the Khajiit’s work.

Bristling with satisfaction, J’zargo waved a hand across a soft, green blanket strewn across the table.  After a moment, he made a second pass of his hand.  As he moved, Onmund felt the warmth fade and resume in turn.

A sigh of exasperation came from Brelyna to his left while J’zargo hummed a merry tune, neatly folding his work.

“I can’t believe you’re done already!” Brelyna groaned, tossing her work aside.  “My project is going… less well.”  

Sighing, she looked down at the ten blackened pieces of wood before her.

“The thought of freezing to death in bed makes this one highly motivated,” J’zargo chuckled.  “What is the purpose to these?” he asked, looking at a smoldering piece of wood in front of the Dunmer.

“Well, it’s supposed to be a light at the end of a stick you can turn on and off by tapping on it.  But, it’s not cooperating, as you can see.”

J’zargo looked momentarily baffled by the notion that one would need aid to see in the dark.  Realization dawned in his slitted eyes as he made a faint ‘ _ah’_.

“That would be quite useful,” the khajiit said with an appreciative nod.  “And what is this one working on?”

J’zargo tried to peer at the small, gleaming piece of onyx between Onmund’s fingers but the Nord closed his hand, hiding it from view.

“It’s nothing,” he said with a discouraged sigh, pocketing the object.  “Probably a bad idea.  I’m going to try thinking of something new.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Brelyna said with an encouraging smile.  Laughing, she held up one of her ruined light sticks.  “You’re probably closer to finishing than I am!”

Onmund ran a hand through his hair, her bright expression making him wonder if he looked as worried and confused as he felt.

“It’s almost morning,” Brelyna said, rising to her feet, "I’m going to get some sleep." Waving as she and J’zargo left for the dorms, just before the door closed, she shouted, “Sweet dreams!”

Covering his face with a hand, Onmund sighed deeply at her choice of words. Though he was thoroughly exhausted, he had no intention of going to bed.  Working with his hands gave him much needed distraction from the thoughts prying away at the back of his mind.  

However, it seemed he could escape them no longer.

Gathering up his tools, he descended the stairs, admiring the magical glow of the focal point on the ground floor as he passed it and went outside.

Albeit marginally, the brisk air did immediately helped to clear his mind, so he choose to linger within the courtyard.

Night was yet upon the College of Winterhold with the promise of morning a short ways off.

The sight was undeniably peaceful.

Snow crunching beneath his boots, he peered up at the aurora as he walked.  Tonight the shimmering light of the north had settled on a combination of vibrant greens, blues, and purples.

Picking a handful of snowberries as he passed, he made a mental note to brew more potions of enchanting.  If he was going to finish his school work he’d need more.  Much more.  He had been enchanting steadily for weeks on his overly ambitious illusion project.  If he chose to finish it, it would take at least two more weeks of his every available waking moment, and most of his sleeping ones as well.  He could still change his mind and do something else which only took a day or two.

Frowning, he leaned against a stone arch overlooking the vast expanse of cliff and ocean far below.

It wasn’t just that his illusion project was time consuming and frustratingly difficult, he mused.  It was whom it was inspired by.  Whom he was slaving away to make it for, if he was being completely honest with himself.

Ancano.

Just thinking the name stirred him with unrest.  

How had he let it all go on for this long? he wondered, fingers curling into fists.

Ancano was not a good person, that much was certain.  And he was a Thalmor.  At worst, he might be a torturer.  At least, he cared little to nothing for human beings as a whole.  Which seemed to include him, by proxy.

Sighing heavily, Onmund berated himself for the foolishness of his heart, warring internally.  The more he couldn’t shake the stubborn part of him that cared for the elf, the more aggravated he became.

He knew what he had to do.  It was pointless avoiding it any longer.

He had to end it.

 _Stay out of my dreams_.  

That would be the best way to phrase it.

Once inside his room, he plucked his enchanting project from his pocket, resting it on the center of his desk.

For a moment he stood still, studying the small, delicate onyx figurine of a cat, its tiny emerald eyes sparkling up at him.

The craftsmanship was beautiful, to say the least. A lucky find buried amongst Enthir's wares.

 _'I would have a cat, but the Archmage refused.'_ Ancano's words had come to mind the moment he had set eyes on it.  There had been something behind those words.  Something that had driven Onmund to pour hours upon hours into the that tiny statue.

Onmund found the heaviest object at hand - an empty, bronze ale mug - and raised it over the figurine.

In one, swift motion, he brought the mug down hard.

Expressionless, he stood there for a time, staring down, as the sound of it echoed in his ears.

With a sudden snarl, he cast a muffle spell before grabbing his chair and throwing it across the room.

Glass shattered silently against the wall, shards flying off randomly while ale and mead ran across the cobblestones.  When he ran out of bottles to throw, he beat his fists against the walls, and then more savagely against his desk, until they throbbed.

Throat burning from wordless shouting, he finally righted his chair and sank into it, breathing heavily.

For all of it, his mood was improved none.  He had only succeeded in tiring his body.

The cat figurine stared up at him - intact, beautiful and unfeeling - as though indifferent of his frustrations.  

Beside it sat a deep, round indent from his mug.

Drinking an enchanting potion, he found himself picking up the statuette and resuming his work.

 

\---------------

 

“Ancano?” Arniel asked with a snort, making Onmund jump.  Anywhere else in Skyrim, he would have laughed at the notion that someone might have heard what he was thinking.

As luck would have it, it seemed to be pure coincidence.

“I haven’t seen him around,” Breylna said, eyes darting around the Hall of Elements.  “Not that I’m complaining.  I was just wondering if he left the college?”

“Sorry to shatter that dream,” Arniel said bitterly.  “But, I’m afraid he’s still here.  Though with any luck, maybe he won’t be for much longer.”

Onmund moved closer to listen as the old conjurer lowered his voice.  He hadn’t seen Ancano in quite sometime, though he had been so consumed with school work he hadn’t had time to think much of it.

“He’s sick.  I don’t really mind admitting everyone is hoping for the worst.”

Onmund gave into curiosity with nary a thought.  Not wanting to ask for directions, he slipped away and wandered through the wings of the college, looking for the right room.

After over an hour and finding himself in yet another identical passageway, he was about to give up, when he heard a violent bout of coughing from a room at the very end of a distant hallway.  

From the sound of it, there was no doubt who it originated from.

Onmund tracked the noise back to a door and knocked on it.  

When he heard no reply within, he knocked harder, calling Ancano’s name, but hearing only more racking coughs in response.

Looking around, he tried the handle and with a quick motion, let himself in, shutting the door behind him.

Ancano laid in bed, covered with a pile of blankets, rasping for breath in the rare moments he wasn’t coughing.  Despite the stack of covers over him, he was shaking.  His gold skin was slick with sweat, leaving his white hair matted against his face and throat.

Concerning as the sight was, Onmund found the fact that he seemed entirely unaware of his presence more worrying, as he moved to stand over him.

The chamber itself was frigid and bare, which couldn’t be helping.  

Ancano’s room might have been the coldest part of the college, Onmund mused, feeling a shiver despite himself.  Though the thought did not stir any sympathy; Ancano was there to spy on the College, as everyone knew.  That didn’t merit him a comfortable room to do it in.

Curious, he studied the room.  There was only one personal belonging he could see.  A small, faded family painting of what appeared to be Ancano as a much younger man, sitting with what Onmund assumed were his parents, and a much younger boy, perhaps a brother.

Curious, Onmund picked up the picture from the bed stand, looking more closely at the strange and exotic setting within - clothing, trees, and various details of what must have been the Summerset Isle.

_He’s far from home._

The thought struck him out of the blue, and this time he felt sympathy well up in his chest.

Sick and possibly dying, he was surrounded not by loved ones, but people who hated him.  

Hated him so much, they hoped he would die.  

It may have been his own fault, and possibly might have even been exactly what he deserved.  But if nothing else, Onmund was surprised to find he pitied him for all of it.  

Maybe there was nothing redeeming about Ancano, he thought silently, watching the proud elf struggle for breath, but whatever series of events and life decisions had lead him to where he was now, he was suffering and all alone.

Setting the picture carefully back where he found it, he approached an empty bowl on the nightstand.  Onmund raised his hands above it, casting ice in one hand and fire below, slowly filling the bowl with water.

 

\---------------

 

Soft fur pleasantly touching his face, followed by a delicate purr, caused Ancano to stir.

With a gentle hand, he reached up to pet her.

“Celeche,” he murmured, the cat’s name coming out in a hoarse whisper, his throat painfully raw.

“ _Uncil irodil ane?_ Lenwe _meye?_ ” he asked softly, tenderly stroking the small kitten.

Celeche curled herself into a ball between his shoulder and neck, purring contentedly.

Despite the pain in his chest and head, he found himself at peace as she thrummed softly by his ear, and he fell back to sleep.

Drifting in and out, occasionally awoken by some particularly violent coughing racking his body from head to toe, he found Celeche there each time.  Grateful for her presence, he would listen to her purr and find his way back to a deep sleep where his aching body could not follow.

When he finally came to completely, his breathing was coming easier.  He no longer had to fight around the fluid in his lungs to find air.  His cough had improved, which was not saying much, but it sounded more normal and not rack his entire body.

Hot steam, scented with lavender, boiled up beside him from a bowl.  The strong scent of a salve rose from his chest, soothing the terrible ache of his chest, long pained from the strain of his coughing.  A cool towel across his forehead brought relief from his fever.

His attention flew to his door, as it abruptly opened, followed by someone entering his room.

Onmund.

He watched the Nord shut the door, setting down his books and notes from a day’s study.  From his satchel he produced a bottle and went to work pouring the contents into his hands before walking over and working it into Ancano’s chest.  The mer recoiled with surprise, but weakened as he was, the reaction was diminished to almost nothing.

The warm hands and pleasantly tingling salve were so soothing, he found himself sighing at the sensation.

“Thank you,” he managed in a thick voice.

Onmund jumped back suddenly, looking thoroughly surprised.

“I didn’t realize you were awake,” he said, wiping off the excess salve on a towel.

“My eyes are open,” Ancano replied weakly, sounding a bit muddled.  His mind felt as clouded and weak as the rest of his body. All of his reasoning was coming in slowly, a little delayed.

Onmund pulled up a chair and sat down beside him.

“You’ve been delirious for the last two days.  You held whole conversations with your eyes open.  Or, at least I think you did.  It was either gibberish or Altmeris, so it was difficult to tell.”

An alarmed look crossed Ancano’s eyes making Onmund wish he had bit his tongue.  Telling a Thalmor spy he had been talking in his sleep was bound to upset him.

“What did I say?” Ancano demanded, eyebrows narrowing.

Onmund frowned in concentration.

“I’m going to butcher this, but you mostly said, uh, unsil iroadul, um…  Ah ne...?” Onmund trailed off with a helpless shrug.  He did not have an ear for languages.

Ancano stared at him blankly.

“What are you doing here.”

“What?  I can leave if you...”

Ancano’s expression killed the rest of his response.

“ _Uncil irodil ane_ ,” he corrected, the vowels rolling off his tongue with grace, if not a haughty tone.  “What are you doing here.  I assume I meant this.”

With a shaky hand, he gingerly lifted the kitten beside his ear up before his eyes, observing its striking green eyes.

“You snuck a cat into the College?” he asked, raising a slender, white brow.

“No, not exactly,” he said, shaking his head and gently taking the kitten from him.

He set it in one flat palm, snapping his fingers with the other hand.

The kitten shifted suddenly into an onyx figurine.

With a second snap of his fingers, the kitten returned in the blink of an eye.

Ancano was too exhausted to conceal the awe on his face.

“The amount of time and skill prerequisite to create such an enchantment with such minute detail…”

Onmund smiled, setting the cat back down beside him where he watched the pleasant expression on Ancano’s face with delight as it purred.

“Drevis gave me perfect marks,” he said with pride as Ancano stared appreciatively at the tiny, lifelike movements of the illusory kitten.

A sudden bout of coughing made Onmund turn away to tend the magically driven boiling steam, stoking it up and adding more herbs.  Ancano moved closer to the steam, gratefully inhaling it.

“Lenwe,” Onmund murmured, trying out the sound.

The look Ancano gave him nearly made him drop the bowl he was heating.

“Something you said a lot the last couple days,” Onmund explained.  "Lenwe.  And Celeche.  I assumed they were names of your cats.”

“You’re half right,” Ancano said, resting back among his pillows and staring up at the ceiling with a sigh.  “Celeche was the name of my cat.”

“Then, Lenwe-?”

"My brother’s name."

“O-oh,” Onmund said, looking a bit embarrassed.

"Gods, I despise being sick," Ancano said venomously, pinching his forehead in frustration.

"I doubt anyone likes it," Onmund said, taking the compress from his forehead and cooling it with a spell before replacing it.  "It’s the Midden.  I’ve noticed you going down there lately.  The wet and dank - and walking dead - are bad for your health."

Ancano snorted.

The boy was probably right, but there was no way he was admitting it.  Ancano ignored his curious expression and unspoken question - he had no intention of explaining the purpose of his visits to the Midden.

"You should be fine now, with some rest,” Onmund said, changing the topic.  “I won’t have to worry about notifying your next of kin," he joked.

"There's no one to notify," Ancano said matter-of-fact.

Onmund looked surprised, gaze flickering to the picture of his family.

"My mother died in an accident with a carriage,” he explained since Onmund seemed curious, and had gone to the trouble of tending him.  “My father died in the war that same year.  I was nineteen.  Lenwe was only five.  I raised him after that.  When he was seventeen, he died of disease.”

 _No wonder you hate being sick_ , Onmund thought silently.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, watching Ancano stroke the kitten under the chin.

“And you?” the elf asked, arching one of his slender eyebrows in what Onmund was finding to be his usual fashion.  “Any siblings?”

“I was the last of seven,” Onmund said bitterly, his posture becoming rigid and unyielding at the mention of family, as if he was bracing himself for a fight.

Ancano’s eyes widened at the number.

“Having so much as one sibling is considered special, and very rare, in Altmer society.  I can’t imagine a house of that size,” he said thoughtfully.

 _Lucky you_ , Onmund thought cynically.

“‘Strongest warriors of The Reach’, my father always said.  All six of my brothers and sisters are either legionnaires or stormcloaks.  And yes, family reunions are about as fun as you would expect, given the civil war,” Onmund said, shuddering at the thought of going home for the holidays.  “I was the first mage in our family’s long and illustrious history.”

“Quite an honor,” Ancano said, nodding approvingly.

“The day I left for the College my father said, ‘This is our family’s darkest day’,” Onmund said flatly.

“Ah,” Ancano said with a wry grin.  “That quaint Nord bigotry I’ve heard so much about.”

The elf was surprised as the kitten yawned and stretched, the detail in the illusion positively breath-taking.

“Still, you persisted despite everything, and became a mage.  A talented one, in fact,” Ancano said, sounding half-asleep.

Onmund smiled at the complement.  Ancano didn’t give praise lightly, or at all for that matter.  It felt genuine, and more sincere, coming from him than from anyone else.

Ancano’s eyes slowly closed as he began to drift off once more, his slender fingers still gently holding onto the small kitten as if it were his only comfort in the world.

Onmund thought he was asleep, when Ancano suddenly spoke, though his eyes remained closed.

“Don’t become ill,” he said firmly, voice drowsy with sleep.

Onmund heard an almost silent, but urgent ‘please’ at the end.


	6. Chapter 6

Ancano struggled to surface from the thick haze of illness surrounding his mind and body. To his continued surprise, Onmund appeared to tend to him between his daily studies, bringing reading material to pour over while Ancano ate the food he carried up with him.

After a few days, Ancano was feeling more himself and his mind clear, and chose to reach over and pluck one of the open books from the stack which had found its way onto his bed in the course of Onmund trying to cross-reference something.

Onmund, reaching absently for his book and finding only empty space, was forced to look up from his studies. The sight he found left him spellbound.

Fingers carefully curled around the tome, Ancano's gold eyes scanned the pages, wearing the most handsome and intense expression of thoughtfulness he had ever seen.

Onmund found his heart beating quicker the longer he watched, finding the sudden and intense affectionate ache in his chest distantly alarming.

The attractive image of Ancano, engrossed by the words on the page, etched itself fondly in his mind.  A sight he knew he would not be able to forget anytime soon, if at all.

Swiveling his gaze up from the page and to Onmund, Ancano raised his brow, tipping the book forward to offer it back to him, shaking the Nord free from his reverie.

"I don't need that one," he said, remembering himself.  "I’m trying to understand the section in there about compensating for core losses when channeling magicka from an external source.  They keep using the term 'Augury flux', and I don't understand the meaning."

Ancano sniffed disdainfully, snapping closed the thick tome and tossing it aside.

"Little wonder,” he said.  “Neither did the author, evidently.”

His voice was improving back to its usual timbre Onmund noted, while smiling at his wry humor.  The book was dry and pompous, often making no sense at all to top it off.  But it was a relief to hear it wasn’t just beyond his own understanding.

"The concept they were trying - and failing spectacularly - to convey, is that our bodies possess a small, natural amount of internal resistance to magicka.  So, as one draws power from an object, a portion is lost in the process.  Dissipated as heat."

Onmund's eyes lit up.

"Hm," he said eagerly, leaning forward in his chair, things coming into focus.  "Then, if you encountered a large amount of resistance while drawing a large quantity of magicka from an external source, that heat would continue increasing-"

"Up until you became a pile of ashes, yes," Ancano said with a deep chuckle.  "You want as little resistance as possible, when acting as a conduit for magicka."

"They might have added a footnote,” Onmund said with a cynical and slightly bewildered  laugh.  “To better clarify that.”

Onmund then began to ask Ancano questions ranging across various subjects of magic.  Timidly at first, and then with an insatiable thirst, as the elf answered each in turn with fantastic detail.  Questions poured from his lips one after another, a spark ignited in the Nord’s eyes.  In the back of his mind he was consumed with a constant dread of the inevitable moment Ancano would tell him no more.  Onmund felt he could talk to him all night and never tire of his answers.

"You know so much," he said appreciatively, finally breaking from his tirade of questioning.

"As well as I ought," Ancano said as though that were indisputable.  Absently, he stroked the warm ball of fur purring contentedly in his lap.  'Celeche', as he had taken to calling the little, illusory kitten.  "I've made a study of magic since I was your age.  Two hundred years ago."

Onmund shook his head, intrigued.

"I can't imagine what it's like.  Living that long," he said wistfully.

Ancano only scowled.

"Mer once existed as pure beings.  Not this crude matter," he said, covering his mouth as he coughed.  The sound was irate, as if the fit only further confirmed his point.  "We were not meant to live like this.  In these fragile, mortal husks.  There was a time when we were eternal, luminous beings.  Free of pain, misery, and death.  Living two hundred years is nothing," he said bitterly.

"I wouldn't call two hundred years 'nothing'," Onmund said with a frown.

“I would,” Ancano said, sighing deeply, leaning back against the frigid stone wall behind him.  “Especially these last two centuries.”

As a tide of unexpected emotion overwhelmed him, he held onto the small and insistent purr in his hands, letting it ground him in reality.  A tiny reminder of happier times; of home, who he was, and of Lenwe.

It was foolishness, he thought.  But, somehow the passing of centuries had not erased the memories and tiny details of Celeche and everything she represented.

Onmund didn’t make any foolish, consoling remarks or give him any pitying looks, and Ancano was grateful for it.  He was simply there, watching him with patient, pale blue eyes, looking perfectly content to sit by his side as long as Ancano would let him.

For all the sense that made, Ancano thought wryly, chuckling at the absurdity of it all.

Closing his eyes, he hid the feelings welling up behind his closed lids.

Rubbing his face with a hand, he changed the topic.

\---------

Onmund returned to see him regularly, even as his health improved and it was no longer necessary.  Ancano became accustomed to the familiar sound of his knock and regular appearances. 

At first, Ancano expected he would eventually find himself wanting Onmund to leave.  It came as a great surprise when he never encountered that moment.  Wishing instead that their visits would last longer.  To enjoy his eager presence and the peace it brought, if only for a little longer.

Truthfully, he also enjoyed the stroking of his ego.  The little human looked up to him and his wisdom of magic with no slight admiration.  And if he was completely honest, it was impressive how quickly Onmund caught on.  For a human, of course.  Though perhaps it was unsurprising, given his voracious hunger for knowledge.  Dark circles seemed ever present beneath his eyes, as he threw himself avidly into his studies with a reckless abandon bordering on insanity.  It reminded Ancano of his own time spent studying as a young mer, so great was the depth of the boy’s devotion.  He found he couldn’t help but admire him for it, watching Onmund work himself half to death, determined to improve himself as a wizard.  

Ancano helped wherever he could, offering answers to his questions.  Sharing knowledge was one of his greatest passions.  One he had all but forgotten.

Returning to his duties once more- to the looks of disappointment from the faculty of the College- Ancano kept the tiny onyx figurine in his pocket where he could feel its reassuring weight.  Onmund never stated that it was a gift, but he never made any move to take it back either.  A proud smile always graced the Nord’s lips whenever Ancano praised his enchantment as lifelike.

Later that night, he found his candles burning low and the twin moons high in the sky, when he still had not heard that familiar knock.  

The chair beside his bed sat empty.  Bare of that comforting presence that had somehow become a part of his small world.  

They had never talked about their time together or planned it.  Part of him had always expected it would prove ephemeral.

Even still, Ancano found his heart sinking, as he rose to extinguish the candles for the evening.  

Impossibly, the chill in his room seemed somehow colder.

A sudden knock made his heart leap hopefully, while a small voice in the back of his mind marvelled that such a mundane thing could impact him so heavily.

Onmund entered, looking flustered.

“Restoration lecture ran late,” he explained, catching his breath.  From the look of him, he had raced up the stairs.  “Colette just goes on and on.  I tried, but she would not-  mph! ”

Lips captured by Ancano’s, Onmund made several muffled sounds of surprise as the tall elf trapped him against the wall.  Dumbfounded, Onmund stared at the gold lashes of Ancano’s closed eyes in wonder, never having seen them so close - always blindly guessing at his expressions before, his heart aching to know what he looked like.

Now he knew.  He was beautiful.

The satchel in his hand hit the floor and he reached for the elf, touching him in disbelief, that he was unbound and wide awake.

Ancano practically devoured him, biting his lips and raking his teeth along his throat as he enfolded him into the wall so hard Onmund felt he or it might break.

Ancano’s obvious desire left him almost painfully aroused, the Altmer grinding against him in sweet torture.

When at last they broke apart from their kiss, the two stared at one another’s eyes, panting for breath with mirrored expressions of bliss and excitement.  A dam of mutual, pent up desire had broken, and was coursing through them both like lightning.

“You’re gorgeous,” Onmund said in a whisper, marveling at every detail of Ancano.  “I never want to be blind of it again.”

Warm hands traveled down his back as Ancano wordlessly lifted him off the ground, obliging him to tightly wrap his legs around the tall man’s waist.  Their hips pressed together, the elf's tongue teased the inside his mouth as he walked to the bed.

Lying Onmund down without breaking contact between them, Ancano’s hands explored beneath his apprentice robes as he continued grinding against him.

Groans and tiny sounds of warring lips filled the suddenly bright, warm air of the room.

Onmund felt drunk from the elf's touch; light headed, euphoric, and burning hot.  It came as a relief when Ancano all but tore his robes off, exposing his muscular body to the air.

Ancano’s hand found his throat, eliciting a moan as he gently pushed him back against the bed.  Straddling the Nord, Ancano undid the apprentice’s belt and pants, gracefully tugging them open.  Taking a step back, he tore off Onmund’s slacks before quickly moving astride him once more with a deep kiss.  When it ended, Onmund licked his lips, taking in the enticingly close sight of Ancano's cock, his large erection straining within his black slacks.

He was suddenly distracted as the elf's head bobbed, and he felt warm lips slide over the tip of his cock, down to the base, and back again. The hot mouth left Onmund more aroused than ever.

Ancano seemed to be everywhere at once. Eagerly capturing his lips, tangling his fingers in his short hair, and sliding his mouth and tongue around his throbbing cock.  Onmund touched the hot, gold skin of the man’s magnificent bare chest and arms, memorizing every detail in a fog of thrill and delight, all the way down to the touch of his stubble brushing across his cheek and stomach.

As Ancano rocked back, Onmund followed, pursuing the elf’s lips as he moved away.  The fleeting contact of his tongue inviting him to chase.  Supporting Ancano with his hips, he rocked against him, before suddenly spinning the elf back against the bed sheets amidst fevered kisses.  He separated as Ancano had, likewise pulling off the elf’s slacks.

This time when the two slid against one another they were completely naked, their bodies pressing together tightly, and sharing in one another’s soft warmth.  

The elf did wonderful things to his ears (and he dimly wondered if the elf would enjoy the same in return), while rolling him once again on his back, trapping Onmund beneath his tall frame.  Another moan escaped his lips as Ancano went from kissing him passionately, to trapping him against the pillow before attacking the sensitive skin of his neck with his mouth.  

Onmund wasn't sure when it happened - dimly hearing a drawer open on the nightstand - but he was aware Ancano had gotten his hands on a bottle when he heard the popping of a cork.

Warm, slick fingers worked their way inside him, causing his sky blue eyes to roll back.  A faint, blissful smile flashed across his face at the new and unique sensation of Ancano’s touch.  His pleasured grin was only broken by his mouth working in small moans and gasps.  The feeling was so intensely intimate and erotic, he could barely think straight as the elf worked, placing hungry kisses up and down his chest.

Onmund’s small groans made the elf smirk with devious satisfaction.  The fevered rhythm between them died down as Ancano began to take his time.

Languidly, he pleasured the Nord.  His devilishly clever fingers leaving him rock hard and gasping, until he was staring up at him with pleading blue eyes.

Ancano oiled himself slowly with one hand, Onmund watching intently.  For a moment, Ancano glimpsed something tense in those young eyes before it quickly vanished, hidden away beneath an all too Nordic expression of strength and pride.

Ancano held his gaze with a single, slender brow raised, until Onmund sighed.  

His mask slipped away, revealing a nervous expression.  

Unspoken words passed between them, ending with a nod from Onmund, encouraging him on.

Positioning himself carefully, Ancano entered the tight Nord.  Bit by bit, he moved himself deeper, giving Onmund time to adjust.  

He had never debauched a virgin before.  

The thought struck him out of the blue as he continued moving carefully, watching Onmund’s expression for sign of pain or discomfort.

It wasn’t until the next day that he was stunned to silence.  Realizing that out of everything he could have- and perhaps should have- thought at that moment, his mind chose to center around that.

Not the fact that he had been intimate with a human.

In the end, it was the thought that followed, which struck him most of all.

Even should he live to see a thousand, he couldn’t imagine regretting it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter contains implied violence. Without revealing the content of the finale, know that other warnings may apply, so be forewarned.

Pre-dawn light filtered through the College’s main courtyard as Onmund walked toward the Hall of Elements, fine, powdery snow softly crunching beneath his feet.  He yawned and stretched, feeling absurdly happy. The sun seemed to be shining just a little bit brighter, the air tasted extra sweet, and every fiber of his being felt strangely alive.  

From the corner of his eye he caught a flash of movement, spying the hint of gold-trimmed Thalmor robes before they disappeared into the Midden.

Cautiously, he approached the cellar door, giving the entrance a considering look. His lecture wasn’t due to start for awhile, although that was the least of his concerns.

Curiosity won out, and he cast a muffle spell before quietly opening the trapdoor.

A thin blanket of white mist swirled around his feet as he descended the ladder into the college's foreboding, underground lair.  Pulse racing in his ears, he barely caught the sound of footsteps fading down one of the dimly lit, icy corridors stretched out before him.  Swallowing nervously, he followed after it.

At first the path was simple enough, and he easily tracked the clipped, hurried footsteps, always just shy of catching up to their source.  Eventually he was forced to guess where to turn when he came to a fork, and the steps began to quickly fading away.  He chose the left passageway on a whim, pausing afterward to listen.  Greeted by total silence, he went back to the fork, sighing in defeat.  There was no sounds, visible footprints, or any other trace.

For a moment, he thoughtfully glanced back the way he had come.

Shrugging, Onmund dismissed the idea of turning back, deciding ‘in for a copper, in for a Septim’, as he pressed deeper into the mysterious ruins.

Besides aching with curiosity to know what Ancano was up to, the underground Midden was a mystery begging to be explored.  The college staff usually dodged questions about the lair, only making the students wonder what existed beneath their feet, begging to be discovered.

Onmund felt his curiosity all but vanish as he heard a low, spine-chilling moan reverberate through the passageway.

He knew the sound from the ruins beneath Morthal and it made the blood in his veins turn to ice.

A draugr was wandering nearby.

Heart racing, he re-cast his muffle spell, keeping a wary eye out for the deadly draugr roaming the dark halls.

Leaving was suddenly sounding appealing. He readied a clairvoyance spell to guide him back through the twisting, turning path to the surface, when he heard a strange, ethereal male voice coming from across a bridge of ice.

Intrigued, he crossed followed it, listening to the otherworldly speaker’s faint words grow more distinct with each step he took.

"Once again you have come seeking something. The circumstances differ. This time I have what you seek."

“Tell me what I wish to know, Augur.” 

Onmund’s heart leapt at the sound of Ancano’s impatient voice

Descending frost covered steps two at a time, he followed their voices around a corner, where he found a passageway with an open door at the not too distant end of the hall.  Taking a step back, he pressed himself into the hewn, stone wall to hide himself, where he could hear both of them clearly.

Carefully, peeking around the corner, Onmund saw Ancano’s back was to the passageway. The Altmer mage was staring into a near-blinding, blue light in the center of the room.  The luminous orb was suspended above a well filled with dark blue stones, burning like coals.  

When the Augur spoke again, Onmund was intrigued to find the source of that airy voice was the brilliant glow itself.

“You seek that which all who wield magic seek. Knowledge. You shall find this: knowledge will corrupt. It will destroy. It will consume.”

“I tire of your endless aphorisms!” Ancano snapped irritably.

“Arrogance will serve you poorly,” the Augur replied stoically.   "Your perseverance will only lead you to disappointment."

Onmund wondered if the Augur referred to his own past disappointment or if he was foretelling Ancano’s future.  He had read about augurs.  Supposedly they began life as priests or diviners, before transforming into creatures of knowledge, bordering on the omniscient.

Colette had once mentioned a supremely gifted Breton mage who had undergone an accident in his over-zealous quest for power.  Although, this was such a common tale at the College, he had difficulty recalling which story it was, but he seemed to remember hearing that it had happened in the Midden.

“To kill Man is to reach Heaven,”  the wispy voice quoted calmly, sending shivers down Onmund’s spine.  “The Thalmor are correct in this assumption. The elven races can escape from the Material Prison.  If Man is removed not just from the world, but from the Pattern of Possibility, then the Dragon will unbind.  Uncoiling its hold on the stagnancy of linear time, to roam as the Free Serpent again.  Moving through the Aether without measure or burden, spilling time no more.  Thus, allowing the elven races to regain their mantle of imperishable spirit.”

The cold certainty and indifference behind his words made Onmund shudder.

“How do I accomplish this task?” Ancano asked eagerly.  “How can I use The Eye of Magnus to destroy mankind?”

Onmund stared numbly at Ancano's back with wide eyes.

“Destroy the Snow Throat,” the Augur replied, his detached, placid voice a strange contrast to the heinous information he imparted. “The last of the Towers stabilizing the barrier between the mortal plain and the realms of Oblivion.  The Nords call it, ‘The Throat of the World’.  When all of the Towers are no more, the eternal cycle of death will cease. Mundus will dissolve back into its original state, unbound by the laws of physics and reality. Time and space will have no meaning.  Nor despair, nor discord. The race of man will be undone, existing on only in memory. The world of mortals will be over, the divinity of elves restored.”

“Tell me how to activate The Eye’s power,” Ancano asked eagerly, without hesitation.

Onmund silently looked away from the elf, a violent ache spreading throughout his chest.  He hadn't imagined feeling physical pain from emotional wounds was possible.  Distantly, he was intrigued at the concept.  It was not just the stuff of songs and sonnets, sung and written by starry-eyed bards and poets.  It was real, and it was horrible.

Listening to the Augur instruct Ancano, he began planning a way to stop the Thalmor from achieving his goal.  As Onmund strategized, a small voice in his mind quietly began wondering one thing in the background of his thoughts.  

Could he kill Ancano?

He wanted to believe it would be no choice at all, if it was a decision between the elf and ensuring mankind.  And yet... would either of them hesitate to strike the other down, if it came to a fight? he wondered sadly to himself.

And if so, which of them would hesitate and which would strike?

As he continued eavesdropping, listening to a detailed description of using The Eye, it all felt surreal. There was a glimmer hope, as the Augur described an artifact that could stop The Eye.  The Staff of Magnus.  

Leaning closer with anticipation, Onmund stared intently at the back of the robed figure with long white hair, as he had done so many times before in the Hall of Elements, trying to ignore the turmoil in his heart. He was caught off-guard by a sharp, violent pain to the back of his head.  At the same time, he was silenced from behind as someone grabbed him, forcing a rough cloth smelling of faintly of sleeping potion over his mouth.  

As Onmund recovered from the stunning blow to the back of his head, he began to struggle in vain.  Desperately, he dug his heels along the uneven stone floor as he was dragged away, trying to attract Ancano’s attention - for better or for worse.  

To his confusion, no sound came from his boots.  

Cursing mentally, he realized his muffle spell was working against him.  

He could make no noise.

The person behind him held the cloth so forcefully against his face, he began to feel weak and lightheaded more from wont of air than the faint odor of sleeping potion they seemed to be trying to drug him with.

Onmund was feeling dizzy and disoriented by the time they dragged him to a distant room and kicked the door shut behind them.

The person behind him seemed at a loss of what to do, looking around wildly.  

He resisted as hard as he could, but his head was swimming and his vision fading in and out as he could only manage short breaths.  Time became disjointed as he felt himself slackening, passing out from lack of air.

Arms trapped at his sides, he kicked furiously at the taller figure’s knee.  He heard an angry snarl in his ear for his effort and found himself roughly shoved down onto a table where he momentarily blacked out.

The next thing he knew, his wrists had been bound together as had his ankles.

Able to breathe again, he blinked, feeling more coherent as the cloth was no longer mercilessly held against his face with that iron grip, but he could only manage muffled shouts, finding himself gagged instead.

Recovering his senses, he looked up to see a Thalmor agent looming over him, looking around frantically.

An idea seemed to occur to the frenzied Altmer, as his eyes fell on a large, wooden chest.  A key sat in its lock, which he pocketed before wrenching it open and grabbing hold of Onmund.

When the elf tried to force him toward the chest, Onmund struck.  Using his head to bluntly slam against the Thalmor’s, he caused the elf to recoil, shouting in pain and surprise.

Onmund was seeing stars all over again, his head still throbbing from their initial meeting.  But there was little else he could do with his limbs so tightly bound, and it was gratifying to make things difficult for his abductor.  He wrenched futilely at his ropes, longing to use his fists on the bastard.

The sound of footsteps coming from outside the door caught both of their attentions.

Onmund began urgently making as much noise as he could, certain it was Ancano.  Whether he would be his savior or his doom he didn’t know, but he was his only hope.

The elf above him looked nervously toward the door, angrily hissing, “ Be quiet!”  before upending an entire potion bottle onto a cloth.  Onmund unsuccessfully tried to turn away as he grabbed his face.  

Brutally and clumsily, he doused him with the oddly sweet smelling potion, glancing anxiously over his shoulder toward the door.

They were both in a race against time, Onmund thought, vainly shaking his head and trying to shout Ancano’s name around the gag in his mouth.  He felt his eyes beginning to flutter as he stubbornly tried to growl Ancano’s name.  The elf above him was snarling something at him, but he could no longer make out the words. There was another splash of potion across his face but he barely registered the sensation.  The sound of a door opening was the last thing he heard before he fell unconscious.

\-----------

Estormo clicked the lock shut on the chest at the same moment he heard his superior enter the room.  Straightening his robes, he stood, trying his best to look dignified.

“Sir,” he said, with a respectful bow of his hooded head.

Ancano appeared to be in high spirits.  There was a spring in his step and a smile on his lips.

“Estormo,” he said, returning his greeting with a nod.  “I’m glad you found your way.  Are you well?  You seem out of breath.”

“Draugr,” Estormo lied smoothly, wiping sweat from his brow.  “I encountered some on my way in.”

His heart swelled at Ancano’s look of approval for ‘dispatching’ the undead denizens on his own.

“Well done,” Ancano said.  A look of steel quickly replaced the friendliness in his eyes.  “You made it inside without being seen?” Ancano asked slowly, an unspoken threat hanging behind the question.

“Of course.”  Estormo smiled reassuringly while silently praying to all eight Divines that Ancano could not see through the lie.  Sweat formed on his back, as he further prayed the Nord in the chest who had followed him in would remain silent.

Although, it was also possible he might be dead from an overdose of the potion he had used, in which case he was going to have an awkward time finding a way to dispose of the body without Ancano noticing.

Perhaps throwing it into the ocean from the top of the bridge?

No, it’d be too difficult to get there without being seen.  And the missing student would force the locals to turn the Midden upside down, interrupting Ancano’s work.  If that happened…  Estormo suppressed a shudder.  Damn that Nord! he thought furiously, while maintaining his outward smile.

He suggested Ancano show him around so he wouldn’t get lost in the future, relieved to get him as far away from the room with the locked chest as possible before anything else could go wrong.

Keeping his face carefully neutral so as not to betray his inner thoughts, he listened to Ancano’s plans for The Eye.  It was an amazing story which left him captivated, to have immortality so stunningly close to their grasp.

As they talked, Estormo moved closer.  Subtly smiling and saying kind words, mentioning some of his accomplishments in his travels, yearning desperately to impress Ancano as ever.

But he was continually met with disappointment.

Ancano treated him with polite interest and nothing more.  Sighing internally, he wondered if there was perhaps someone else the mer had his eyes on.  He had always tried hard to win his respect, but Ancano never seemed to notice.

When it was all over, he set his mind to ‘cleaning up’ his situation on his own.  Ancano needn’t know about it.  Surely he’d have a good idea on how to handle it, as this was his posting.  But, aside from Estormo’s fear of retribution, he wanted prove he was capable of fixing his own mistakes.  Ancano had work to do on his mission, he didn’t need more distractions, and he looked so very pleased.  It was his own fault that he was seen and unwittingly allowed a Nord to overhear Ancano’s plans; he needed to clean up his own mess, somehow.

The sound of a draugr’s groan gave him the idea for a solution to his problem.

\------------

Coming to, Onmund blearily set to work kicking the chest from within as hard as he could.  It was unlikely he could damage it, but he could make as much noise as possible.

There were scratches of a key preceding a blinding wave of light as the lid was opened.  The Thalmor from before appeared, dragging him out, and tossing him on the floor.

Onmund glared up at him, not caring for the elf’s sickeningly smug and sinister looking expression.

“I’m afraid, my dear apprentice, that curiosity has sadly lead you to your end,” he gloated.  “The Midden is a dangerous place for young wizards to go exploring, you see.  So  many  draugr.”

With a loud snap of his fingers and a burst of magicka, there came a low groan from the doorway before a draugr stalked into the room.

Two, terrifying blue orbs burned like coals in its skull where there should have been eyes.  When it moved, it was with unnatural speed, little more than a blur of sharp teeth and wicked, claw-like skeletal fingers.

Onmund inhaled sharply, awkwardly scrambling back as quickly as he could in his ropes, running out of room to retreat as he backed into the chest behind him.

\------------

Ancano stared at The Eye in wonder.  

Studying it and applying what he had learned from the Augur of Dunlain. 

He could feel how to open it; could sense it yielding to his commands.

So close.  He was so close now, he knew it.

“...Onmund?  I’ve looked everywhere.  I’m worried-”

Part of a conversation broke through his trance.  Ancano glanced over at the Dunmer apprentice, urgently talking to her Khajiit friend.

“He said he’d help me practice,” she said, wringing her hands.  “It’s not like him to not show up.”

“Perhaps he decided growing gills once was one time too many, hm?” replied the Khajiit with a chuckle.

Ancano found himself moving toward them without thinking.

Brelyna started as he appeared beside her.

“How long?” he demanded.

“W-what?

“How long has he been missing?!” Ancano snapped, ignoring the stares following his sudden outburst.

Brelyna shrank back, glaring suspiciously.

Finally she said, “Since this morning.  He never showed up for lecture.”

She hadn’t finished the sentence, before Ancano turned on his heel, leaving the hall in quick strides.

\------------

Estormo waved the draugr aside.  

The Nord’s screams and struggles had stopped some time ago.  

Rising to his feet, he inspected the body.  Viciously torn and soaked in blood, but still identifiable.

Satisfied, he turned to the draugr and unleashed a gout of flame from his hands, reducing it to a smoldering pile.

The brave, young wizard valiantly defeated the draugr before sadly succumbing to his wounds, he thought to himself, slicing apart the ropes around the Nord’s ankles and wrists and burning them to nothing.  It would soon be a cautionary tale spread around the college like wildfire.  A warning to other students of the dangers that lurked within the Midden.

Estormo removed Onmund’s gag and recoiled as the apprentice suddenly leapt up, spitting blood in his eyes and temporarily blinding him.

Onmund’s fist struck Estormo’s face hard before the wounded Nord collapsed, breathing hard.

Estormo stumbled back, clutching his face with one hand and staring at Onmund in disbelief.  Blood flowed freely down his face from his broken nose.

Glaring at the lesser being, his anger boiled up as he grit his teeth, squeezing both gloved hands into fists.

"Why won't you die?!" Estormo shouted, his rage and voice rising ever higher.

Sparks crackled to life in both of his hands, and he threw the lightning into the Nord, channeling his magicka until it was completely depleted.  

Once again, the Nord lay deathly still.

It was then Estormo felt a sudden, sinking feeling, that made him look instinctively up at the door.

Straight at Ancano.

Estormo froze, eyes wide with shock.

“You killed him,” Ancano said, sounding detached.

Estormo managed to recover himself.

“He was spying on you-”

"And you didn't bring it to my attention," Ancano interrupted, walking toward him.

"It was a minor distraction - a petty annoyance,” Estormo said quickly, the words stumbling over each other as he sought to explain himself, to find a way to make Ancano understand.  “He- he followed me.  I wanted to fix my mistake, quietly. I only thought to spare you from this paltry detail."

Ancano’s eyes travelled from the draugr’s remains to Onmund’s mangled body, as he slowly continued his approach.

"A curious student, killed by a draugr,” Estormo explained in a nervous rush.  “The mages won't look into the matter too closely."

"You should never have kept this from me."

Another damning statement.  Estormo wished Ancano would get angry; his emotionless remarks were terrifying in their finality.

Estormo opened his mouth to argue, then stopped, as Ancano stopped before him.

"You're right... I knew.  I couldn't bear to disappoint you," he said in frustration, looking at Ancano with hopeful eyes, searching his face for a glimpse of understanding or spark of forgiveness.

Estormo saw a flash of green light as the paralyze spell hit him, followed by a sharp pain in his chest.

"Had it at least been quick- had it been  clean,"  Ancano snarled, shaking in rage as he looked down at the young Nord soaked in blood.  "You listened to him  scream -" Ancano began in a roar, before stopping himself.  When he spoke again, it was in an agonized voice.  "A quick death.  You could have given him a quick death.

“I might have overlooked- Well, perhaps, and perhaps not. But you made it slow. And  painful ," he said the final word vehemently.  “But I will make this quick.”

Ancano watched the light fade from Estormo’s eyes, and when he was gone, he gently set him aside.

Numbly lowering himself to the ground, he sat beside Onmund and bowed his head.

Reaching into his pocket, he felt the cold stone of the onyx figurine.  The once reassuring weight of the small statue now felt heavy, filling him with sorrow.

A barely perceptible rise and fall of Onmund’s chest caught his eye, and he scrambled to his side with a healing spell.   Lightly, ghosting a hand over the deep gashes on his face, Ancano cast a restoration spell to suppress his pain.  He knew his wounds could not be mended.  Delaying the inevitable and providing him comfort was all that he could do.

Cradling the Nord into his arms, he tried to position him to allow his breathing to come easier. 

Onmund sighed in relief as the warm, golden light enveloped him, easing his pain enough for him to talk.

"Suddenly, I can't really blame you... for wanting to end death,” he murmured with a small laugh, his voice frail.

Ancano smirked, while at the same time feeling his emotions well up out of his control, as it occurred to him, he was hearing the young Nord’s voice for the last time.

"I overhead everything, with the Augur,” Onmund rasped, stubbornly managing to talk.   “I understand why you want to do it… to live in a world without pain and death, but-" Onmund winced, agonized and unable to speak for a moment, before forcing himself on, "I would have tried to stop you.  One of us would have had to kill the other. I'm relieved, in a way,” he said with a cynical chuckle, before looking sad.  “I couldn't have... I don't think..."

Ancano shushed him, telling him it was okay. He didn't care if Onmund had the resolve to kill him or not.  It didn’t matter.  And it was nothing worth wasting his last breaths on.

Ancano wanted to tell him not to talk - it looked so taxing.  But, the effort of finishing his thought, seemed like the only thing holding him in the world for a little longer.  So he savored the sound of his voice, eased his pain with healing magic, and listened quietly.

"I think, I understand now, why you don’t care about us,” Onmund wheezed quietly.  “You think, mortals all die eventually. So to you, ending us now doesn't make much difference.  Not compared with immortality.

“And, I don't know what I could possibly say, to convince you that humanity is worth  more  than that.  But...” Onmund began, hopelessly, his eyes damp.  Even if he had all the time in the world, he doubted he could find the right words.  “...we are."

Closing his eyes, he tried to swallow, his breathing becoming slower.

Ancano stroked his hair, continuing his healing spell even as he felt his magicka pushing past its limits.

"Whatever you decide to do... whether you live eternity... or just live the rest of your life... Ancano-"

His voice was fading, forcing Ancano to lean close to hear what he was trying to say.  Whatever it was, he desperately wanted to convey it, from the urgent look in his crystal, blue eyes.

"What?" the elf asked softly.

"Don't... live... in misery.”  

Finishing the last word, his voice faded away like a soft sigh.

The healing spell dimmed and disappeared, finding no life force left to touch.

Ancano sat for a long time, staring at Onmund's still features.  Gently smoothing his face caused blood to soak into his Thalmor robes and gloves, but he didn’t care.

At long last he stood and carried the torn, blood-soaked body with him out of the Midden, his boots leaving red prints in the snow as he walked across the courtyard.

As he entered the Hall of Elements, people collectively recoiled at the sight of his bloody visage.  

Nirya wasted no time, sprinting upstairs to find the Archmage.  

The rest of the wizards hung back uncertainly, gathering destruction spells in their hands.

Ancano ignored them, reaching out with his mind and touching The Eye.

A forcefield of magical light flared to life at his command, the teal barrier teleporting everyone out of the hall and blocking the entrances in shimmering brilliance.

Summoning all of his focus and concentration, he approached The Eye, reaching out a hand to touch its runed stone surface.  The artifact slid apart, bathing him in the blinding light contained within.

Outside of the barrier, Savos Aren rushed down the stairs with Nirya close behind.  The Archmage stared at the fantastic light in trepidation.  Red eyes aglow, the Dunmer aggressively drew his hands together, drawing his magicka together.

Before he could launch an attack to breach the barrier, The Eye loudly snapped shut and the force field vanished into thin air.

Savos cocked his head to the side, slowly entering the hall, carefully watching Ancano’s back.  

Following Savos' lead, the other members of the College stepped forward, approaching the Thalmor with spells drawn.

Ancano turned to face them, opening his arms and revealing Onmund for the first time since he had entered.

Brelyna's choked sob broke the silence at the gruesome sight of her friend’s scarred face.  Her cry transformed into a gasp, as Onmund’s torn skin and clothes slowly drew themselves back together, until the wizard was whole again. The Nord opened his eyes as Ancano set Onmund on his feet. He stared around the room, exchanging looks of surprise, before finally looking up at Ancano, wearing a grin on his face.

There was a collective widening of eyes when Ancano reached out his hand, and tenderly pressed their foreheads together, running a hand along Onmund's cheek.

Onmund wished the moment could last forever.  As the light in the room turned to gray, and the expressions of everyone around him froze in time, he watched in confusion, wondering if one of the Divines had heard his thought.

Three Altmer in pale yellow robes appeared from thin air and approached him.

“Please do not be alarmed, we mean you no harm,” one of them said, as Onmund looked fearfully at the three men.  “It is good to meet you in person.”

“What’s going on?” Onmund asked suspiciously, looking around the frozen room.  “What’s happened to everyone?”

“We’d simply like to talk to you.  My name is Quaranir,” replied the Altmer.  “I’ve given us a chance to speak privately, but I’m afraid I can’t do this for long.  We must be brief.”

The elf to his left stepped forward.

“I am Gelebros,” he said with a bow of his head.  “Our Order has been watching your college for some time.  The overwhelming power of ‘The Eye of Magnus’ as you call it, makes it difficult for us to see a clear picture of the future.  The fates of many worlds intersect and blur.  For a time, we believed the Dragonborn would be the one to face Ancano.  But their interest never strayed to magic, focusing instead around war and defeating the World Eater, Alduin.”

“You knew?  That Ancano would try to unmake the world?” Onmund asked in confusion.  “Why didn’t you stop him?”

The third Altmer stepped forward.

“Tandil,” he said, introducing himself.  “It’s not that simple.  You must understand.  The Psijic Order does not typically… intervene in events.  Interfering directly, would be seen as an affront to our order.”

“We are meant to observe,” Gelebros interjected with a nod.  “And our interference would have caused dire consequences to the future. Yours, most of all,” he said, glancing between Onmund and Ancano.

“A chain of events has been set in motion today,” Tandil said.  “Ancano’s actions have proven the world is nearly ready for The Eye.  As you may have learned, The Eye is immensely powerful.  But if it remains here, it will be misused.  Indeed, some in the Order believe is has already…” he said, giving Onmund a meaningful look.

“What do you mean?” Onmund asked, glancing up at the glowing artifact.  He began to suspect Ancano has done more than heal his wounds.  He wounds which should have been fatal, he realized with a start.

“Ancano has chosen to bestow on you the power of immortality,” Quaranir explained, speaking quickly as though his time were close to up.  He ignored the look of shock on Onmund’s face as he continued.  “We long believed that our faith in the both of you would be justified.  A great many things obscured to you are quite clear to us.  There will come a day when you will guide the College of Winterhold, and you will find Ancano’s help in your endeavors invaluable.  Particularly where the Thalmor are concerned.

Now, I am afraid we must leave you.  We will continue to watch over you, and guide you as best we can.

It is within you to succeed.  Never forget that.”

The gray light faded away as time resumed its normal flow.

As Ancano unfroze, he instantly looked upon the yellow robed Altmer with surprise and distrust.

“What trickery is this?” he demanded.  

“Clearly, we should not be here,” Quaranir said as the three of them surrounded The Eye.  “We shall simply take our leave.”

Between the three of them, The Eye disappear in small particles of gold light.

“Hold!”  Ancano snapped.  “You’re not going anywhere until I find out what you’re up to!”

“I am not ‘up to’ anything,” Quaranir said innocently, though Onmund suspected it was meant to rile Ancano.  “I apologize if I have offended in any way.”

The three monks disappeared before Ancano could reply.

\----------

EPILOGUE

\----------

Onmund watched Celeche yawn, her tiny pink tongue sticking out as she arched her back.  He considered adding a shake of her whiskers to the movement later, watching her curl into a ball on his chest.

Long, gold fingers scratched between her ears, as Ancano reached up to pet her from his side of the bed.

Onmund had found out more than he ever wished to know about how the Thalmor and the Psijic Order disliked one another on no uncertain terms.  Ancano was still bitter about the ‘theft’ of The Eye of Magnus, grumbling about it and the ‘manipulative monks’.  Tonight felt peaceful though, and Onmund decided to ask what had been on his mind.

“Why did you do it?” he asked, turning his face so he could look into Ancano’s eyes.

Ancano chuckled, lying languidly back on the bed.

“I presume you’re asking, why did I save you, instead of destroying humanity?”

Onmund nodded, intently watching the elf.

Ancano merely smiled, picking up Celeche.

“Because you gave me a cat, and I’m a sentimental old fool.”

“I don’t think that’s the reason,” Onmund scoffed, rolling onto his side.

“Oh?” Ancano asked, arching a slender eyebrow.  “What is your explanation?”

“I think that your judgment was momentarily clouded by ambition, but you realized at the last second that you want to save, not destroy,” Onmund said, looking at him fondly, his blue eyes sparkling.  “And perhaps, that you knew you’d regret destroying humanity later, and that you’d have to live with that burden for eternity.”

Ancano snorted, as if these were very farfetched notions.

“Believe what you want,” he said.

Onmund rolled his eyes and sighed, becoming thoughtfully quiet for a minute.

“I’m going to outlive you…” he said in a small, troubled voice.

“Eventually,” Ancano agreed gently.  “Not any time soon, I hope.  But that is part of being immortal.  You’ll have to get used to that.”

“It’s overwhelming,” Onmund said with a frown, thoughts racing behind his concerned eyes.

“Don’t think of eternity.  Think of one day at a time,” Ancano advised, glancing at the letter on his desk addressed to the Thalmor headquarters in Alinor.  “On that note… I’ve decided to leave the Thalmor.  The Archmage has granted me permission to stay on at the college.”

Onmund sat up in excitement, before furrowing his brow.

“Will the Thalmor let you leave, just like that…?”

“Time will tell, I suppose,” he said with an indifferent shrug, though Onmund thought he looked a bit nervous.  “But they have more important concerns with the civil war.  One spy retiring to devote his life to magical research hardly seems worth their time.”

“I’m glad you’re staying,” Onmund said, laying back down beside him.  “What made you decide to pursue research instead?”

Ancano smirked, curling himself around Onmund.  Closing his eyes, he leaned his forehead against the immortal Nord’s brow.

“Someone reminded me of how much I enjoy it,” he said, extinguishing the candles with a wave of his hand.  “And then not so subtly told me to live a good life now, instead of making myself miserable with yesterday and tomorrow.”

Onmund smiled at him in the dark.  Snapping his fingers, he set Celeche’s figurine safely on the nightstand.

“Good night, Ancano,” he said, lovingly curling his fingers in the elf’s long, white hair.

“Sweet dreams, Onmund,” he answered with a low chuckle.


End file.
